


when we all fall asleep, where do we go?

by triggerhappyhope (starprise_entership)



Series: Danganronpa: Ultimate Order [5]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different Mastermind (Dangan Ronpa), But no sexual content, Canon Typical Violence, Mastermind Ishimaru Kiyotaka, Mastermind Owada Mondo, Multi, chihiro is a ghost here, m rating for vague mention for taka and mondo's bdsm chamber, the thh survivors are just in that one trial scene, tw for allusion to self harm, tw for allusion to suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:09:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25445908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starprise_entership/pseuds/triggerhappyhope
Summary: Deep within the mastermind's lair, Mondo hears the voice of the person he least wanted to see again.
Relationships: Fujisaki Chihiro & Owada Mondo, Ishimaru Kiyotaka/Oowada Mondo
Series: Danganronpa: Ultimate Order [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1837957
Comments: 3
Kudos: 73





	when we all fall asleep, where do we go?

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic part of the MM!Ishimondo AU which [kokeshidynamo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/toddfather/pseuds/kokeshidynamo) and I came up with. 
> 
> Other fics set in the [Danganronpa: Ultimate Order](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1837957) universe

It started with a whisper, a whisper so soft it could get lost in the wind.

_ Oowada-kun. _

Mondo’s ears perked up at the sound, his hunting instincts already telling him to scan the room for a potential invader. His fingers dipped to the dagger strapped to his belt, where they curled around its handle. Muscles tensed just the slightest bit, ready to strike and kill at the slightest provocation.

His keen nose caught no difference in the scent of the air around him. Nor did his eyes catch a glimpse of anyone moving about Ishimaru’s dimly lit office. However, his mind continued to keep him on edge, constantly throwing out subconscious reminders suggesting that he wasn’t alone.

He took his feet off the expensive mahogany desk and pushed himself back in the leather office seat, preparing himself to face the threat.

_ Oowada-kun, I’m here! _

“Who’s there?!” Mondo growled. He leapt out of his seat like he had just been given an electric shock, and pulled the dagger from its sheath. “Don’t fuck with me.” He tried to ignore the tremor in his hand, baring his teeth instead to assert dominance. His vision was all reds and pinks, so much adrenaline rushing through him. He could fight anyone now.

Suddenly, the shadows started to move. Seeing the blurry figure in the corner of his eye, moving faster than he had ever seen anyone move, Mondo turned. He swiftly plunged the dagger down with a loud curse, intending to go for the kill; but his aim missed completely and the tip of his dagger embedded itself in the desk.

“Damn, Ishimaru’s gonna have my head if you don’t take it,” hissed Mondo, addressing the intruder directly. “But he’s the only person who’s allowed to kill me.” He pulled his dagger from the table and held it in front of him. “Mess with me again and you’ll see why I’m called the  _ Mad Dog. _ ” 

A slight breeze tickled the back of his neck, and then he felt a warm pressure on his shoulder, like someone had laid a hand on him. Reflexively he reached over his shoulder to grab the intruder’s wrist when he  _ realised- _

There was no one behind him.

The situation had Mondo scratching his head - how could a person move so inhumanly fast? But he was sure there was someone else in the room, and when he managed to catch them he’d gleefully beat them to death with his own fists. Pink blood all over the carpet. Normally in such a situation, Ishimaru would wag his tongue at Mondo and order him to clean up the mess he’d caused, then reward him with a night of  _ stimulating  _ activities in their soundproof room in the basement. But right now, Ishimaru was drifting in and out of critical condition in the infirmary after Mondo had made the decision to forcibly pull him from the killing game moments before he and Yamada had arranged to meet up. Mondo was then left in charge of his office, and his plans for the time being.

He saw another moving shadow, and kicked the office chair back as a diversion. It collided with one of the heavy bookshelves, sending thick volumes of political texts crashing down onto the floor. Meanwhile he swept an arm through another bookshelf, sending more books flying in the direction in which he thought the intruder to be. Thinking they were stunned, Mondo brought his dagger down again for the kill…

...only to be met with nothing once again.

“Shit,” Mondo swore, completely baffled yet again. “You bastard. Come out and face me like a man.”

_ Oowada-kun! _

For the first time, the voice rang out clearly, and Mondo’s blood ran cold in his veins when he realised who it belonged to.

And his suspicions were confirmed when he saw Chihiro Fujisaki standing among the piles of thrown books, watching Mondo with those big, watery eyes of his. This was the face he had nightmares about every night. Fujisaki glowed an eerie green, and if Mondo looked just hard enough at him, he could see through his body to the bookshelves behind him.

Fujisaki looked at him with his expression full of concern? Pity? Mondo wasn’t sure. But Fujisaki wasn’t scared. The little kid who had his head crushed in by Mondo in a jealous rage was no longer scared of him. That thought sent an icy shiver down Mondo’s spine. He wondered, for a second, had the temperature in the room dropped when Fujisaki appeared? 

The corners of Fujisaki’s mouth turned downwards in a frown, remaining like that for a second. Then as mysteriously as he had first appeared, he vanished into thin air, leaving not a single trace.

Mondo chose to forget about the incident. Doing otherwise would force him to acknowledge either one, Fujisaki was a hallucination of his and he was just losing his marbles; or two, Fujisaki’s ghost had paid him a visit and he was actually scared of the tiny boy he had killed.

* * *

Fujisaki turned up again the next day. He’d materialised in front of Mondo as he paced the dim corridors. One moment he wasn’t there, the next he was. Mondo thanked his lucky stars that there was nobody around to hear the loud, high-pitched scream that he let out in response, or there would probably be a few fresh corpses lying around.

“What do you want!” Yelled Mondo, desperate to get this little bastard out of his hair. “Stop following me!” He walked faster, but Fujisaki kept up with him, something he would never be able to do if he were still alive. Now, it seemed that Fujisaki could move as fast as he wanted by floating through the air. Even though Mondo was still not going to accept that Fujisaki had appeared to him again. Because he wasn’t crazy, right? And he sure as hell didn’t have this sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

Fujisaki remained calm and put a hand under his chin, considering something. “Oowada-kun, could I see him?”

Mondo snorted. “Him?” He glanced over at the set of heavy wooden doors leading to the infirmary. “You mean…?”

“Ishimaru, yes.” Fujisaki smoothed down his puffy skirt. “Can I see him?”

The gears were turning in Mondo’s head as he was trying to figure out why exactly Fujisaki had requested such a thing. Almost all at once it came together for Mondo, that there was only one reason a  _ ghost  _ would visit someone who was already at death’s door. The realisation hit him like a sledgehammer, and his eyes went wide as he saw Fujisaki drift towards the doors leading to the infirmary.

“No! You can’t take him! Don’t you dare take him!” Mondo pleaded, his voice cracking. “Don’t take  _ him _ , please! If there’s anyone’s soul you should be reaping, it’s  _ mine _ !”

Fujisaki gave a startled gasp, and he disappeared as suddenly as he had appeared earlier, leaving Mondo in the hallway alone.

Mondo jumped at his sudden disappearance, growling at the fact that this small fry could turn him into such a jumpy, terrified mess. But then he remembered Ishimaru, all alone in the infirmary; there was no one to protect him, and Fujisaki had asked to visit…

The doors swung open with a bang as Mondo threw them open, stepping into the room. The infirmary was dark, the lights turned off to allow Ishimaru to rest. And there- standing in the darkness, was a sight Mondo never wanted to see.

Fujisaki loomed over Ishimaru, watching him as he slept.

“Hey.” The programmer began, resting his ghostly green hand atop one of Ishimaru’s. “Don’t give up yet, Taka. Don’t go just yet.”

Mondo interrupted him with a shout. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” 

“He’s been lonely, hasn’t he?” Fujisaki mused, watching the slow, steady rise and fall of Ishimaru’s chest. “Nobody bothered, or perhaps dared, to watch over him after you left the game. He shut himself in his room, not eating and drinking...I guess it wouldn’t be a surprise when the tranquiliser dart you used on him had a much stronger effect than you expected. That sedative really took a toll on him, sending him into critical condition...you’re trying to keep him alive with these machines and stuff, but...he’s fighting against them.”

“What the hell do you know about Kiyotaka, anyway?” Mondo snorted. “He’s tough as nails. How dare you say that he doesn’t wanna live any more?!”

Fujisaki looked unshaken. He merely turned his gaze away from Mondo and to one of the beeping screens at Ishimaru’s bedside. “You know how his plan ends, right?”

“I’m supposed to run this game with him. He gives me info when he thinks the time is right. And he hadn’t given me much on the ending of the killing game, which probably means he thinks the game’s far from over, right?”

“Mondo.” Fujisaki shook his head. “His plan ends...with him being executed.”

“Wha-?” Mondo stuttered. “No fuckin’ way he’s gonna get executed! I always thought it was gonna end with  _ them  _ failing to finish our game, so that he could show to the world that talent is nothing! That’s what he believes in, his world of perfect order! Fujisaki, you gotta give me a good reason for what you’ve said or I’m gonna smash your head in. Again.”

Fujisaki brought a finger up to his lips, thinking hard. “Have you considered how he feels? I mean, after he got control of the nation? He had hundreds -  _ even thousands _ \- killed because they broke his rules and got in his way of his vision of a world of perfect order.”

“He felt mighty proud of it, afterwards!” Mondo asserted, clenching his fists. He took a slow step forward, and then another - each step bringing him closer to Fujisaki, and when he would reach Fujisaki he’d give him a world of pain. “Said it was necessary!”

“But you know Taka better than anyone! The reason why he put his plan into motion in the first place...was that he felt that he was doing the right thing! That’s why he does everything he does, because he’s just driven by the desire to do the right thing!” Fujisaki retorted, eyes full of determination. “But what happens, when he realises he’s done more harm than good?”

“Well, I suppose he would feel guilty about it, but there’s no way he could hide it because his emotions are just so  _ out there in the open!  _ So there’s no way he could feel guilt or anythin’ !” 

Fujisaki refused to back down. “When Taka does something wrong, he always seeks punishment. Perhaps he hid the guilt from you because he knew you’d try to stop him.”

_ How dare he suggest that he knows Taka any better than he does.  _ Mondo clenched his teeth. “You’re wrong, you have to be!” He yelled, charging forward. “You’re just saying that cuz ya wanna take him away from me!” In one smooth action he had one of the infirmary stools held with both hands over his head, ready to throw. “I won’t let you have him!”

Fujisaki raised his voice for the first time. Mondo was shocked, for he had never done so in his presence when he was still alive. “Stop! Think about what you’re doing, Mondo! The stool will pass right through me a-and hit the machine that’s currently keeping him alive! You’ll kill him!”

“How do I know what you’re saying is true? Trying to weasel your say outta this, you bastard?” Mondo could take this no longer. With a heave, the stool was out of his hands now and hurtling towards Fujisaki. It soared through the air without grace, just barely missing Ishimaru as it flew across the room. Fujisaki stood his ground and took the shot without flinching, his face an unreadable mask of stone. For a moment, Mondo thought that the stool was going to hit Fujisaki and it would be all over for the tiny boy, but Mondo’s predictions were gravely wrong. He watched on, horrified as the stool passed through Fujisaki’s body and landed with a deafening crash into the glass cabinet behind him. 

If he had aimed the stool half a foot to the left, Ishimaru would probably be a dead man.

The room remained quiet, nothing to be heard but the monotonous beeping of the ventilator and Mondo’s heavy panting. Ishimaru appeared unawakened, still resting in his deep slumber. The ventilator mask on his face fogged with every exhale. Mondo observed him for a few seconds, stunned at the realisation that his attack could have gone completely wrong. Sure, Fujisaki terrified him, but the one thing that scared him more than Fujisaki now was  _ Kiyotaka  _ dying. Kiyotaka was his everything. His supreme commander, his friend, his bro, his  _ lover  _ \- and if Mondo let him die because of his impulsive anger (in the same way he killed Fujisaki), he would never be able to live with himself. 

He would die a thousand times over for Kiyotaka. But not once could he ever let Kiyotaka because of him.

Mondo lunged forward again at Fujisaki, and in that moment there was nothing in his mind but pure rage. He roared. “I’ll kill you again, Fujisaki, I can and I will!” The dagger slid from its sheath with a metallic hiss. And then his arm jerked forward and plunged the blade into Fujisaki. And again. And again. He would not be satisfied until he saw his dagger draw blood. But none flowed forth. The mist that made up Fujisaki’s ghostly form dispersed when the blade was stuck into him, but reformed as soon as the blade was pulled out. 

“I’m stronger than you, I know I am! And everything you’ve said to me is just pure utter bullshit! You’re only doing this so you can t-take...take Ishimaru away from me!” The dagger slipped from his hand, but Monddo refused to cease his assault on the ghost, clawing at his face and eyes with his fingers. He raked desperately, like an eagle ripping its claws into its prey. Again, like the dagger he had tried to use, all his fingers did were pass through Fujisaki’s childlike facial features, and no damage was done to him whatsoever. “ _ Fuck you! _ ” screamed Mondo, his words coming out as a strangled cry. “Damn you and d- _ damn everything _ ! I  _ shoulda kept you alive  _ so I could  _ torture you as much as I damn well please!  _ I killed you once...and I can  _ do it again!  _ So face me as a man and not as a coward! Stop hiding, and come out so that I can really  _ hurt  _ you again!"

“You know I can’t do that, right?” Fujisaki pointed out, flickering in and out of visibility. “You can’t hurt me any more...because once you’re gone, physical attacks don’t do anything.”

He vanished for a moment, then reappeared again near the doors of the infirmary, watching Mondo closely. “But think about what I’ve said, alright? And I’ll lend Taka whatever strength I have. I want him to get through this as much as you do, Mondo.”

With that, Fujisaki blinked out of existence again, leaving Mondo alone with his thoughts. He retrieved the stool he had thrown, sat by Ishimaru’s bedside and started to think about Fujisaki’s words; not for  _ Fujisaki’s  _ sake - he couldn’t give a damn about that little bastard- but for  _ Kiyotaka’s _ . If Fujisaki was truly right and  _ Kiyotaka  _ was fighting to  _ not _ stay alive, as he had said-

-then Mondo would do all it took to steer him away from the jaws of death, even if it cost him his own life.

* * *

_ The Mad Dog had returned from one of his rampages. _

_ “Today’s a good day, babe,” said Mondo, resting the bloodied pickaxe against his shoulder. “They’re really getting in line now.” _

_ “Oh, really.” Ishimaru returned quite mildly, barely looking up from the papers on his desk. “That’s good to hear.” _

_ With a flick of his coattails, Mondo perched himself on the corner of Ishimaru’s desk, watching him work. “Whatcha doin’? Planning that pet project of yours?” _

_ “The killing game I’m launching within our high school? Yes, indeed. I’ve planned out most of the details, but some...seem to escape me for a moment.” Ishimaru slid his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s alright, Mon-chan...whatever happens...it will end the way I want it to.” _

_ “Lemme see.” Mondo turned his head to get a better look at the paper Ishimaru had penned down his ideas on. Written at the top of the page were several classmates’ names, each circled with red pen. Kirigiri. Asahina. Ogami. Fujisaki. Maizono. And then Naegi - his name was circled not only with red pen, but highlighted in yellow. Underneath that group of names were another group of them, crossed out in black. Before Mondo had the opportunity to read the names of the second group, Ishimaru pushed his chair in and laid his arms on the table, blocking Mondo’s view.  _

_ “What’s with the circlin’?” Mondo asked, curious. He leaned in towards Ishimaru. Reaching out, he cupped Ishimaru’s cheek in his palm, tracing circles against the smooth skin with his thumb. Ishimaru paid him little notice, his attention trained on the sheet of plans in front of him. “You’ve got somethin’ special planned for those guys? A very special punishment, perhaps?” He raised his eyebrows. “Can I kill them personally?” _

_ Ishimaru gave a sigh. “No, Mondo...I hope to keep them alive. I’m thinking about possibly rigging the game in their favour.” _

_ That caught him off guard. “Eh?” He blurted. “Thought you’d want a level playing field for all o’ them. Cuz’ that’s your thing. Fairness.” _

_ “I know, Mon-chan.” Ishimaru gave a sigh. “I’m thinking of giving them extra help during the game...my calculations and predictions indicate that in all possible scenarios, they are less likely to survive. And what better way to ensure a more level playing field during the game than to give the weaker participants a bit of assistance? Then they would have an equal chance of survival as the others.” _

_ Mondo found himself wanting to question how Ogami of all people could have a lower survival chance than the average participant in their game where physical strength was easily one of the biggest advantages a participant could possibly have. But he trusted Kiyotaka’s judgement, and let it slide. “If you say so, babe.” _

_ Mondo moved his hand from Ishimaru’s cheek up to the top of his head where he continued to rub soothing circles. “Watchin’ our classmates fight to the death so you can show the world that talent means nothin’. Can’t wait to see the plan in action.” _

_ Ishimaru nodded, showing a grin that evidently had signs of exhaustion behind it. “Yes, I’m excited. No matter the outcome.” _

_ “Even if they manage to expose ya’ as the mastermind?” Mondo quipped. “Even if they try ta’ put you on trial for your crimes?” _

_ “Mm, perhaps so.” Ishimaru reached up for Mondo’s hand, taking it in his. “That would be quite an outcome, wouldn’t it?” He pressed a kiss to Mondo’s knuckles, and then let him go. “Go and take a shower, Mon-chan. You’ve been dripping blood all over my carpet.” _

_ “Aw.” Mondo wrinkled his nose. “Do I have ta clean it up afterwards?” _

_ “That is what we agreed to, yes?” Ishimaru picked up his glasses again and slid them back onto his face. “Don’t worry, I’ll still reward you later for your hard work.” _

_ Mondo gave Ishimaru’s hair one last harsh ruffle and hopped off the desk. “It’s a deal then.” _

_ Ishimaru looked over his plans once again as he heard the sound of Mondo’s footsteps fade down the hall. Satisfied that he had considered every single outcome, and that they all led to his desired conclusion, he drew arrows leading to the centre of his flowchart where he swiftly penned the words, in large font- _

**_KIYOTAKA ISHIMARU MUST DIE._ **

* * *

The warning signs were already there when Ishimaru expressed his desire for a televised killing game within Hopes’ Peak Academy. Now, Mondo wanted to kick himself for not seeing them in the first place.

As soon as Ishimaru awoke from his coma, he was already back at work as if not much had happened. For days and nights he locked himself in the office, responding to no one but Mondo. His meals went mostly untouched, set to the side as he buried himself in his work like there was no tomorrow. It had been only a short two days until Mondo snapped, as watching Kiyotaka continue on in this state was simply unbearable.

The bowl of porridge was set down noisily on Ishimaru’s uncharacteristically messy table, some sloshing over the side and onto the papers beneath it. Mondo didn’t give a damn about those documents, no matter how precious they were to Ishimaru.

“Eat,” Mondo barked, forcing the spoon into Ishimaru’s right hand. With his hollow cheeks and sunken eyes, Ishimaru feebly raised his head to look at the towering man standing before him.

“Why?” Ishimaru’s response came out as a single vague word. Mondo shook his head, and pushed the bowl towards him.

“Haven’t ya looked at yourself lately?” Mondo spoke through gritted teeth. “You’re all skin an’ bone now, ya’ know? If you don’t eat or rest now, you’ll be a dead man before you know it!”

Ishimaru seemed almost  _ defiant _ . “I know.” He folded his hands in his lap. “Therefore, my question is - why do you care, Oowada?”

“What do you mean by-  _ why do you care?! _ ” Mondo was on the edge of tears, but he refused to let them show. “Have ya forgotten what we’ve been through together? Huh? Have ya forgotten your  _ promise  _ to me?” His voice was hoarse. “You told me that we would  _ live together, die together!” _

“You would follow me, a monster, to my death?” said Ishimaru. “You are truly loyal to my cause.”

“If you’re a monster, I’m a monster as well.” Mondo shook his head. “You’ve been working so hard on that vision of yours...and you can’t do anything about your precious Ultimate Order if you’ve starved yourself till you’re dead, can ya? So  _ eat.  _ Or I’m gonna feed you, would ya want that?” He pried the spoon from Ishimaru’s fingers. Scooped a spoonful of porridge and raised the spoon to Ishimaru’s lips. 

“It’s gettin’ cold, Kiyotaka. Eat up.” He nudged the spoon closer. “Come on, I swear, it’s  _ not poisoned.”  _

Finally, Ishimaru took a reluctant sip, swallowing it down before Mondo fed him another. And another. The occasional clinking of the spoon against the porcelain bowl was enough noise to avoid any dreaded awkward silence between them, so they said not a word to each other as Ishimaru consumed his dinner.

Bit by bit, he drained his porridge and Mondo was satisfied when there was not a drop left in the bowl. “See, that wasn’t so bad, right?” He gave Ishimaru a pat on the back. “I’m gonna bring this back to the kitchen now.”

The first step out of Ishimaru’s office filled Mondo with pure dread. If someone had told Mondo before that he’d be feeding Ishimaru spoonfuls of porridge like he was feeding a sickly little bird, he’d scoff at them and say that they were out of their  _ fucking mind.  _ But now, seeing how the once confident, ambitious boy commander Kiyotaka Ishimaru was a shell of his former self...Mondo felt like his world was collapsing. 

He had to do something about it, before it crumbled completely. 

Mondo left the bowl in the corridor and headed to the infirmary, currently unoccupied. He toed through the line of salt he had made in front of the infirmary doors, done so to keep ghosts out. (It had worked on Fujisaki. The one time he came to see Ishimaru in the infirmary after that, the salt stopped him like the glass wall of an aquarium stopping a fish from swimming any further. It was a bit of a funny sight at the time. Fujisaki looked like he had his face smashed against a windshield or something.)

Standing in the middle of the dark room, Mondo rubbed his hands together, and took a deep breath to steady himself. “Fujisaki, you there? I don’t know how ghosts work an’ all, but I really need your help this time. So if you’re there,” he paused to take another nervous breath, “I wanna talk to you. I-I promise I’ll put aside the personal baggage for now.”

“You called, Mondo?” Fujisaki approached the infirmary from the outside. “Can I come in?”

“Sure ya can.” answered Mondo, who was then faced with a skeptical expression from Fujisaki. “The salt circle’s broken. I promise.”

“Okay then…” Fujisaki stepped over the broken line of salt and properly into the infirmary. “So, what do you need my help with, Mondo?”

“It’s Kiyotaka.” said Mondo, quick and straight to the point. “You were right about him fighting not to be alive. He’s barely eatin’, and I don’t think he’s slept since he got out from his coma.”

Fujisaki frowned, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. “I was afraid that was gonna happen.”

“So?” Mondo threw out, crossing his arms. “How can I save him?”

“I’m sorry.”

Mondo gave an exasperated sigh. “Fujisaki?! You were the one who told me he was gonna be like this, so how am I gonna fix the situation?”

Fujisaki mumbled. “I wouldn’t know. I’m truly, truly sorry. You’re the one who knows him inside and out, Mondo. Only you have any idea about what’s going on inside his head.”

Now it was time for him to do some serious thinking. He sat down on a nearby stool, and with his head hung low he started to sound his thought process out. “It’s the guilt, huh? As you said, the guilt that’s eatin’ him up?” Mondo suggested, thinking back to their last conversation. “If I could convince him...that he ain’t gotta be so guilty...but how?”

“He feels guilty over the number of lives he’s taken away in his efforts to make Ultimate Order a reality,” Fujisaki pointed out. “At the time, perhaps it seemed to him that he’d have to incur a small loss for the greater good, but now the cost’s become too heavy for him to bear.”

“So I gotta convince him that those killings that my guys and I had ta carry out...were necessary in the grand scheme of things, huh? So that he won’t give up on that grand dream of his.”

“Mondo.” Fujisaki blinked away his tears. His expression was one of pain, almost disgust. “Think carefully about that. Do you really think he could live with that? If you were him, do you think you could accept that?”

Mondo shrugged his shoulders. “Means nothin’ to me now. I don’t feel anything when I kill any more. Haven’t felt that way in a long time.”

“Did you feel nothing when y-you...killed me?”

Mondo shut his eyes tight, trying to recall what exactly he had felt at the time. The matter gripped his heart and twisted his insides. This was different from all the other times he’d cheerfully massacred for Ishimaru’s campaign. His murder of Fujisaki was far more  _ personal _ . Fujisaki had brought out the weakest parts of him. The vulnerable bits, the parts that Mondo wanted to lock away in an iron safe and send it to the bottom of the ocean. 

“G-Guess that time was different.” Mondo admitted, shamefully. He wanted to add more, but then remembered that he had promised Fujisaki that he’d try to bring up their personal baggage as little as possible. “You really didn’t deserve it, kid. But I suppose maybe it’s just when I kill for  _ Ishimaru  _ I don’t feel anything.”

“By your logic...it would not matter if one more person lost their lives because of Ultimate Order, right?”

“Yeah, but-”

“What if that person was  _ Taka _ ?”

“I’m sorry, Fujisaki.” Mondo stuck his hands in his pockets. “I already know I’m goin’ ta hell, if that even exists. But I wanna keep him alive, even if it means dragging him down with me.”

“You feel very strongly about him.” Fujisaki nodded. “I appreciate that you’re looking out for him...but…”

“I’ve been relying on him all this time!” Mondo yelled, at his wit’s end. “If he...goes and offs himself, I don’t know what I’ll do without him! I’ll no longer be his right hand man. I’ve got no plans for my life now- my life ends when his does! My life is for two things - to be the head of the gang and Ishimaru’s right hand man!”

Fujisaki stepped forward and posed a question. “Is that what you really want? Is that all you want from life? As you pointed out...once Ishimaru is gone, your gang falls out of power and you won’t have anything to fall back on. So, what will it be, Mondo? Is your life nothing but your positions and standing? Is your life nothing but the Mad Dog persona you’ve created for yourself? Who is Mondo Oowada, when he is neither a gang leader, nor Ishimaru’s right hand man?”

Mondo took a while to ponder. When he stripped away his titles and power, what was left? Deep down, he knew the answer. Mondo Oowada was a deeply insecure man who knew he could never be as strong as his brother. And instead of working on the aspects of himself he deemed inferior to his brother, he took the cowardly way out. Chopped his fucking head off and brought it to Ishimaru on a platter so that he could become the second most powerful man in all the nation. While running away from his weaknesses. That was the reality of it, and the reality Mondo wanted nobody to see. The reality that Mondo hid behind his persona, the Mad Dog who killed rebels and enjoyed it, blood guts and all. 

“You’ve made yourself all about Ishimaru’s cause. It’s consumed you, but you still have time to change things. I can’t, because I’m...gone. But you still can. And maybe you can still change things for Taka.” Fujisaki made his way to Mondo’s side. Mondo was amazed at how warm his presence was, even if Fujisaki was incorporeal. If Mondo closed his eyes, perhaps he could imagine that Fujisaki was never  _ dead _ and they were in a time before they’d even gotten into this  _ mess _ , this  _ mess  _ of a situation that felt more and more hopeless as time went on.

Later, after Fujisaki had bid his farewell for now, he returned to Ishimaru’s office where he arrived just in time to catch Ishimaru as he collapsed out of his chair.

“Just go get some sleep,” Mondo grumbled, clearly not happy with the situation. “There’s no way you can work like this.”

“My days are  _ numbered _ ,” protested Ishimaru, “and  _ yours  _ are too.” Mondo thought about asking Ishimaru what exactly he meant, for the cryptic words sent an icy shiver down his spine. But now Ishimaru was struggling to stay awake, eyelids fluttering closed before he attempted to force them open again. Mondo carried him back to his sleeping chambers, and Ishimaru slept soundly till the morning.

* * *

Mondo closed the door behind him as his shoes clacked against the checkerboard tiles. He appreciated the sight of the familiar crimson velvet curtains draped on the walls and the racks of  _ equipment _ they would routinely utilise whenever Kiyotaka requested to  _ let off steam _ , or so he put it. This soundproof underground bunker was their  _ private paradise,  _ where nothing mattered but the two of them. 

“Hey, what’s this?” Mondo scratched the back of his neck, already itching with anticipation to get his regular leather collar on. “You haven’t asked for us to come down here for weeks.”

Ishimaru cleared his throat. It was at this point where Mondo noticed that he was on the floor, on his knees. He kept his head bowed, uncharacteristically submissive. “Thank you for responding to my request. I was worried..that perhaps you were not going to show up.”

Mondo dropped into a squat, unused to Ishimaru’s submissiveness when he was usually the more dominant one in the room. He felt a little better now that he was at eye level with Ishimaru. “Why wouldn’t I wanna spend time with you? It’s been a while since you did anything but work. Come on, I’ll do anything ya need.”

“Oowada.” It was jarring, how Ishimaru said his name with such trepidation. He blinked, and Mondo could spot tears already pooling in the corners of the other man’s eyes. “I...I n-need you to hurt me.”

“Hurt’cha how?” Mondo raised an eyebrow, confused. “Kiyotaka...I don’t know about this...you’re acting pretty strange today?”

What Mondo was not expecting from Ishimaru next was an anguished cry. “I don’t  _ care _ how you do it! Use the whips or the paddles on me, or even your bare hands...hell, you could even hold me down and-and h-h-have your w-way with me?! I don’t give a  _ damn _ how you do it, just that you  _ hurt me,  _ so that I know w-what I did was utterly  _ unforgivable _ !” Tears flowed freely down his cheeks, his body shaking. “Please, Oowada, I need to be  _ punished _ , it’s what I need-”

  
“No…” Mondo shook his head in a mixture of disappointment and shock. “I can’t do it. I won’t hurt you. And that’s final.” He was half expecting Ishimaru to back down from such an outrageous request, but a part of him just knew he wouldn’t give up so easily. When Kiyotaka Ishimaru desired something he pursued it with all of his willpower, and this time was no different.

Mondo was amazed that Ishimaru still managed to get to his feet, shaking as hard as he was. “No?” He reiterated, raising his voice at Mondo’s defiance. “No is not a valid answer, Oowada. You will hurt me, or I will make you do so. It is the only way.”

With the stance of a bull ready to charge, Ishimaru brought his arm up over his shoulder and threw the best punch he could at Mondo. His fist travelled slow enough for Mondo to sidestep out of the way, and instead hit the concrete wall as he threw his entire body weight forward. 

Ishimaru wiped his bruised knuckles against the leg of his pants, wincing at the pain. “Fight me, Oowada, I’m telling you to fight me!” He turned, and lumbered forward again, this time not going for a punch but instead for the dagger at Mondo’s belt. Mondo, still overwhelmed by his shock at seeing Ishimaru in this state of desperation, reacted a tad slower this time, backpedalling just out of the way when Ishimaru made a grab for his dagger. His fingers missed by mere inches. So  _ this  _ was Ishimaru’s strategy now, thought Mondo, making a mental note to stay out of his reach. Ishimaru was fighting not with the intention to win, but with the intention of provoking Mondo enough for him to fight back. 

“Kiyotaka.” Mondo made the effort to swallow back his fear, in hopes that Ishimaru would not be further distressed by his reactions. “You gotta calm down, okay? Please? I-It hurts me seeing you like this.”

Ishimaru responded with a growl that seemed almost animalistic, and lunged at Mondo again. This time Mondo had his arms out to push him away, and he felt a twinge of guilt as Ishimaru stumbled back far enough to trip over a chair, sending himself tumbling to the ground with the sturdy chair. When Ishimaru was pushing himself off the floor, Mondo distinctly noticed that the force of his fall had caused a bruise to form on his cheek where it had met with the armrest of the chair on his way down. His chest ached. Ishimaru cupped the tender injury with a gloved hand, hissing at the pain. He relished it,  _ revelled  _ in it, seemed almost too happy to feel pain. He glanced back at Mondo with teary eyes, and made another attempt to throw himself at the bigger man.

It turned out, that third time  _ was  _ the charm, and Ishimaru had succeeded at swiping the dagger from Mondo’s belt. As soon as he had his hands on the bladed weapon he angled the blade towards himself, wielding it in a manner not to attack nor defend; he was making himself vulnerable. Ishimaru pushed back his sleeve on his left hand and raised the dagger, its polished bronze blade gleaming-

Mondo tackled him to the ground, fast as lightning. The dagger slipped from Ishimaru’s fingers with a clatter, but the blade had been too close to his wrist and left a shallow, bleeding scratch in its wake when Mondo had snatched it away from him. Dropping it on the floor, Mondo slammed his foot down on the handle and kicked it as far as he could. It skittered across the floor until it came to rest in the far corner of the room, and then Mondo was bearing down on Ishimaru before he could wrestle away to retrieve the dagger. Raising Ishimaru’s hands above his head, Mondo pinned his wrists down to the floor as he shifted to get one knee on either side of Ishimaru’s hips, immobilizing the man beneath him. 

“Give it up already, Ishimaru,” panted Mondo, his heart hammering from the exertion. “You know you’re not getting out of this one so easily.”

Ishimaru continued to sob and wail, his chest heaving with every breath. “Why?” He shrieked, having given up on preserving any dignity he had left long ago. “Why won’t you hurt me?” The whites of his eyes were bloodshot, and snot dripped from his nose and pooled on his tear-stained cheeks, not a pretty sight. “Oowada...my  _ mad dog _ …” He snarled, teeth gritted in rage. “When I  _ order  _ you to attack someone, you always comply without question. And now the person I order you to attack...is  _ me.  _ Where is the  _ mad dog  _ who will tear me to shreds without a second thought?  _ Where is he? Where is he, Oowada?!” _

_ “Not fuckin’ here, that’s where.”  _ Mondo returned, pressing down harder on Ishimaru’s wrists. “I’m not obliged to be him all the time, ya know.”

“You have my seal permanently seared into the centre of your upper back, and I carved my name into your inner thigh,” said Ishimaru through broken sobs. “Those marks on your skin were like unbreakable promises to me. You promised to follow my every command. Am I supposed to take  _ this _ as a betrayal, then?”

Mondo sighed, the tension in his shoulders loosening for a moment. He brought one hand away from his hold on Ishimaru’s wrists, and slid it down to cup one of Ishimaru’s wet cheeks. By now, Ishimaru had stopped struggling to get away. Mondo was taller and stronger, and he’d gone a week or two with little food or sleep. He knew any attempt to escape was futile, and so he ceased his efforts to squirm away, letting out his emotional anguish through his crying instead. But Mondo continued to hold his grip on him, just in case. “We’re more than just the  _ top man  _ and his  _ second in command _ , right?” He stroked his thumb lightly against Ishimaru’s skin where purple bloomed underneath. “Before that, we were friends at Hopes’ Peak, and even before that…”

Mondo took a deep breath, bracing himself to dig up a memory that he knew Ishimaru would rather forget. “Do you remember how we met? For the first time?”

Ishimaru gave a sniff, and more tears poured forth.

“You were there, lying on the sidewalk in front of your middle school, all bloody and beaten up...and I called the ambulance for ya and took you to the hospital.” Mondo recalled that humid summer evening. He looked down into Ishimaru’s quivering red eyes, those same quivering red eyes that stared right through him as he held Kiyotaka’s trembling hand in the ambulance that evening. “Couldn’t stand to see you hurt. I know, we were strangers an’ all back then...but if this happened again, I’d do the same thing for ya in a heartbeat. Cuz’...I just want good things for ya. So there’s no way in  _ hell  _ I’m gonna hurt you, or let anyone else hurt you.” 

Mondo’s thumb rested on Kiyotaka’s cheekbone, wiping away any tears that he shed. With his other hand he gently let go of the other man’s wrists, and instead slipped his hand into one of Kiyotaka’s, interlacing their fingers. He guided their hands down, so that Kiyotaka no longer had his arms stretched over his head. Mondo could almost hear a sigh of relief from him as he did so.

“I’m so sorry for upsetting ya like this,” apologised Mondo, his voice dropping to a soothing whisper. “But I didn’t want ya to hurt yourself.”

“B-But I...that’s what I deserve.” 

Mondo shook his head. “No,” he breathed, reaching up to slowly place a kiss on Kiyotaka’s forehead, as light as a butterfly. “You deserve better.”

It was then decided that Kiyotaka needed to have his wounds treated and dressed, so Mondo helped him up by the arm as they trudged back to their quarters. They showered together, as they did regularly before the killing game started; helping to scrub each others’ backs as well as any places that would be hard to reach on their own. This was the first time he’d seen Kiyotaka without his clothes on since they’d left the killing game, and the sight of Kiyotaka’s ribs showing under his skin was enough to make Mondo tear up. He did shed a few tears, perhaps, but between Kiyotaka’s back being turned to him as he scrubbed and the water pouring over his face as he stood under the showerhead, he was sure that the other man hadn’t noticed. 

They left the shower and headed for their bedroom still fully naked, as was their tradition. They slept with their bodies bared to each other simply because they trusted each other fully, and thus there was no need to hide anything. But before Kiyotaka could climb under the sheets, Mondo stopped him, grabbing first aid supplies from the bedside table.

First came the ointment. Mondo stuck a finger in the jar and liberally applied the smooth ointment to Kiyotaka’s bruises, careful not to press down too hard. 

“I could do this myself, Mondo. You don’t have to treat me like a child who can’t take care of myself.”

Mondo narrowed his eyebrows in disagreement. “Didn’t say you couldn’t take care of yourself - I’m just doin’ this because I care.”

“I didn’t order you to do this.”

“Well, I’m not doin’ this for you as your  _ second in command _ , ‘m doin’ this more as a friend. Cuz’ I don’t think I should make my entire life’s purpose about Ultimate Order any more.”

“Why?” Kiyotaka’s intense red eyes burned into him. “Are you betraying me?”

“Betrayal? No!” Mondo was quick to answer, trying to dispel Kiyotaka’s doubt as soon as he could. “I’m just sayin’...that...maybe that dedication to the cause has ruined both of us.”

“Like, you’re so committed to Ultimate Order that you’re willin’ ta die for it when it goes south.” Mondo pointed out. “And I think ya deserve better than that. You deserve to live.”

“I created this corrupt, evil world that nobody can thrive in. I have plans to fix all the problems I caused.” Kiyotaka’s voice was stern, his voice gravelly. “And it all starts...tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? What’s tomorrow?” Mondo asked, not having been told about any of Kiyotaka’s plans for the near future. His heart skipped a beat, wondering about all the unknown possibilities that Kiyotaka had in store for  _ tomorrow _ . 

“Nothing you need to know. You trust me, don’t you, Mondo?”

Mondo took a moment to deliberate over it, but decided to agree with Kiyotaka, as he always did. “I do.” He said, caressing Kiyotaka’s knuckles as he spread ointment over them. 

“But you know one thing?” Mondo clasped Kiyotaka’s hand in both of his, holding it gently. “You don’t hav’ta feel so guilty any more.”

“Why?” Kiyotaka’s tone remained flat and monotonous, none of his usual energy put into that word. Oh, how tired he was of the shame. Oh, how weary he was from carrying his burden. Oh, how Mondo wished to rescue him from his anguish and bring him away to a new life where he would live without pain.

“What if ya...stopped takin’ responsibility for all of this?” Mondo asked, meeting Kiyotaka’s gaze. “If you just ran away. Start afresh somewhere in a place nobody knows your name.”

“That would be...unfair. Unjust. I’d still live with the guilt of having taken thousands of lives, and not be punished for my actions. An unacceptable situation.” Kiyotaka shook his head. “Surely, you of all people understand this about me.”

“Yeah.” Mondo conceded. “Knew you wouldn’t be on board with the idea, but that was worth a try, right?” Mondo tried to crack a smile to raise Kiyotaka’s spirits, but the worry written across his face never faded. He took a moment to bandage Kiyotaka’s wrist, and when it was done he brought his hands up to Kiyotaka’s face, caressing it again. With his thumb and forefinger he took the skin between the other man’s massive eyebrows and massaged gently, pinching and stroking until the tension there dissipated. 

“There, there.” Mondo kissed him again on the forehead, soft and gentle. “Rest easy.”

Kiyotaka touched the bandage on his wrist, fingers skimming lightly over it. “Thank you, Mon-chan. A-and I’m sorry. For acting in such an irrational manner. I apologise sincerely, for my actions in the past and any more to come.”

“You don’t have ta apologise,” said Mondo, gently taking Kiyotaka’s hand in his. “I understand. You’re just goin’ through a hard time.” In hindsight, he would realise how much of an understatement he was making.

Kiyotaka left it at that, choosing not to respond to Mondo’s last comment. Instead he moved, climbing into Mondo’s lap, guiding the hand that was currently linked with his own down to his waist.

“I’ve missed you,” Kiyotaka admitted, taking Mondo’s face in his hands. His voice was unusually soft, but Mondo felt awed at the tenderness those words conveyed. Kiyotaka’s intense red gaze dipped down slightly, but then averted away before Mondo could tell if the other man had just stole a glance at his lips. “My days have been so dreary with just work and so little time with you.”

“I know.” Mondo held Kiyotaka closer, privately overjoyed to have the other man’s warm body resting against his after so many weeks of being apart. “But you could always make more time for me, right?”

“After tomorrow, yes.” Kiyotaka assured him. “Then we’ll have all the time in the world to ourselves.” Hesitantly, he inched forward until their noses were almost touching. Then, he tilted his head in the manner he would if he were going in for a kiss. “M-Mondo...may I?” He whispered, his breath warm on Mondo’s lips.

Mondo didn’t see why Kiyotaka had to ask so formally for something they’d done so many times before, but it still felt right to answer. “Yeah, babe. I’m all yours.” With his consent given, Kiyotaka moved in, placing his lips gently against Mondo’s. Mondo closed his eyes, and a sense of calm relief overcame him as Kiyotaka kissed him deep and slow. Mondo liked this side of him - the side of him he showed sometimes when he was tired of being harsh, cold, Commander Ishimaru. His lips were warm, soft as velvet and smooth as butter. Each movement was deliberate, thoughtfully planned out by Kiyotaka in a manner he knew they would both enjoy. Their lips separated with a soft pop as Kiyotaka turned his attention to Mondo’s lower lip, lightly nipping and nuzzling with his own. In response Mondo gave a relaxed sigh, roaming his hands over the other man’s back. They drifted, slowly and aimlessly; not seeking a target but looking to merely enjoy  _ all  _ of him. 

Kiyotaka tasted sharply of toothpaste and mint as Mondo let his lips part to allow the other man to languidly slip his tongue past them. He made no rush to deepen their kiss; he was taking his time to relish and savour. Mondo was vaguely aware of Kiyotaka’s hand sliding back, fingertips dancing against the line of his jaw as it went to the back of his head to cradle it. He leant back into the touch, his spine tingling as Kiyotaka toyed with strands of hair at the base of his neck. His own hands were busy, tracing patterns along the other man’s back.  _ How thin and frail he was _ , noted Mondo, concern taking hold of his heart and squeezing. But then Mondo’s fingers dragged over a spot in the small of Kiyotaka’s back, and the soft chuckle he was rewarded with was as light as a bell. The sound thrummed under Mondo’s fingertips and his worry seemed to disperse, giving way to joy. 

It would have been nice if their kiss had lasted forever, but all good things eventually had their ends. With an exhale through his nose that tickled Mondo’s upper lip, Kiyotaka pulled away slowly, his hands on Mondo’s shoulders. A silvery string of saliva still connected them both, the bridge between their lips as thin and delicate as spider’s silk. Then Kiyotaka raised his hand to his lips, wiping them with the back of his hand. Mondo did the same. 

“Shall we retire for the night, Mon-chan?” Kiyotaka asked. His eyelids drooped. Mondo noticed the sad state of the dark circles under the other man’s eyes. (He looked like a panda who hadn’t slept for a week. But he wasn’t going to bring that up to Kiyotaka. He didn’t take jokes too well, especially when he was cranky and tired.) Indeed, he needed a good night’s sleep. He had been burning the candle at both ends. And now was probably when most of the wick had burnt away, threatening to burn out altogether if he did not recharge. So Mondo gathered Kiyotaka up in his arms, got under the sheets, and turned out the light by the bed.

In the dark, Kiyotaka cleared his throat, indicating that he had something to say. “Mon-chan?” 

“Yeah, babe?” Mondo returned, pressing a light kiss to Kiyotaka’s jaw.

“I was thinking...if I could...hold you?” 

“W-well.” Mondo wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but having Kiyotaka in his arms felt so warm and fuzzy. He wasn’t sure he was going to give that up tonight. “I thought you’d wanna be held, I mean, you’ve had a rough day.”

“I know.” Mondo felt Kiyotaka’s foot brush the back of his calf. “Maybe I can hold you...tonight, and we can swap. Tomorrow.”

“Is that a promise?” asked Mondo, bumping his nose against the other man’s. 

“Y-yes, it is.”

With that, Mondo rolled over and let Kiyotaka hold him, arms wrapped around his midsection. While he had been reluctant to give up having Kiyotaka in his arms earlier, he had to admit - that being held by the other man was pretty damn sweet. Kiyotaka had  _ nice  _ arms.  _ Nice, strong, muscular  _ arms. Strengthened by years of kendo training. Mondo guessed his appreciation from his friend’s arms probably stemmed from that time Kiyotaka was feeling sore after training, and had asked Mondo to rub ointment into his overworked muscles. He could still remember that Friday evening. The setting sun, and the dorm room illuminated by its golden rays. That sense of satisfaction that came from kneading each knot out of that strained back, and the way Kiyotaka sunk into his bed afterwards with a blissful smile on his lips. Yes, he remembered that smile well. Kiyotaka had certainly smiled more at Hopes’ Peak than he had now. But the longer Mondo stayed by his side, the more a certain question kept nagging at him -  _ was Kiyotaka ever happy?  _

Mondo felt the arms around his waist give way as Kiyotaka sat up behind him. The bed dipped as he shifted to its edge, digging around in the nightstand. Most nights Kiyotaka tossed and turned restlessly; he needed sleeping pills to get to sleep and stay asleep. And if that was what he needed to get though the night, Mondo surely didn’t mind. As long as...he was getting better. It had pained him to assign guards to watch each and every one of Kiyotaka’s moves, but at least he could be assured that Kiyotaka was still alive. Tonight, he felt a little more confident in that assertion - that Kiyotaka Ishimaru would keep himself alive for another day. Those worries could slip by for now. 

Mondo marvelled at how far he’d come since he showed up to Ishimaru’s office in the pouring rain with his brother’s severed head. Back then, it was his big attempt at grabbing power. He desired nothing more than a partnership, and when things turned sour he would probably off the Commander before he had time to realise what had hit him. But now...Kiyotaka had become a companion, of sorts, to him. After understanding what the other man had gone through, Mondo had a deep respect for him. Kiyotaka had opened up to him too, and that night they cried out of sympathy for each other. Forged by the tears they shed together, their bond was immense. Unbreakable. They promised themselves to each other, agreeing that they would be together in life, together in death…

Kiyotaka returned from his side of the bed and resumed his original position. A light kiss was placed in the centre of Mondo’s back, and that fleeting sensation was replaced by Kiyotaka’s warm cheek against the skin. As he drifted into sleep, his thoughts wandered. Back to when days were better. Back to when Kiyotaka actually smiled, Daiya was there, and the world knew nothing of Ultimate Order. Sunset was the most glorious time of the day - it marked the time where Mondo could finally get away from his academic obligations and start off down the highway on his bike. Kiyotaka was there, once, on his sunset rides - right, that no-nonsense, rule-abiding prefect had managed to force him into a helmet for once! He had whined about how his majestic pomp couldn’t possibly fit under that  _ stupid thing _ , that it was  _ unnecessary _ and that he hadn’t even  _ gotten into that many traffic accidents! _ But Kiyotaka was adamant, and his pompadour was miraculously stuffed under the protective helmet, and they were on their way.

Mondo felt the bike rumbling under him as they sped off down the highway. The weather was as pleasant as it could be, and though he couldn’t feel the wind in his hair, his long coat flared out behind him as it caught the breeze. The road was empty and there were no turns in sight.  _ Fuckin’ great.  _ Seeing that he could go as fast as he pleased, he revved the engine, and the bike roared louder.

The sun flared gently in red and pink, sparkling on the horizon. Rows of palm trees flew by, so fast they were all a blur. 

Kiyotaka wrapped his arms around him tighter as he went faster, as if trying to grab Mondo’s heart from his chest. He pressed his chin into Mondo’s shoulder, a warm pressure, and Mondo swore he felt a tear soak into his back.

“I’m sorry.” 

Was his helmet a little tight? It was, right? He wasn’t used to a helmet. What was Kiyotaka apologizing for? Mondo would be perfectly content riding down the road with Kiyotaka forever.

The weight of his helmet faded away. Like a comet leaving its streaks, Mondo’s hair now flew loose in the wind. Free and wild. Kiyotaka leaned his cheek into the side of Mondo’s neck, and Mondo felt wetness. 

The sky seemed more yellow than orange now. The sun looked like half of a juicy egg yolk as it dipped below the horizon.

Gradually, the road folded back into itself, and the bike lifted off the ground, rumbling softly.

“I love you,” Kiyotaka whispered, just loud enough to hear, and his weight disappeared.

The sunset pulsed, bright but not blinding, the warm embrace of the evening sky. Mondo revved the engine and closed his eyes, heading for the glow beyond.

Mondo woke up in a pair of arms that were  _ definitely  _ not Kiyotaka’s.

A pair of green eyes stared down at him, and he looked back up into them for what seemed like an eternity. He felt nothing at all but a pleasant numbness, drifting along the thin line between waking and sleeping.

Then, an anguished wail pierced the silence in the room, sending Mondo’s senses into startup mode.

The first thing he noticed was the absence of the ground beneath his feet. Stepping on thin air felt like falling, which sent panic to his head. No matter how much he flailed, the solid feeling of having his feet firmly planted on the ground escaped him. Then he realised he was floating a foot off the ground. He would’ve screamed, but he couldn’t find his voice.

The next thing he was aware of was the warmth of Fujisaki’s hand in his. And this time, Fujisaki felt like flesh and blood. It was as if the boy had never been dead.

“F-F-F-Fujisaki!” Mondo stammered, shaking as hard as a leaf in a hurricane. Despite his best efforts, his teeth would not stop chattering. “W-W-Wh-What’s going on?”

The final thing that kicked Mondo’s senses back into full action was the metallic scent of blood. It permeated the air so thickly, he could almost taste it. Then he noticed the sheets, splattered pink on white. It looked awful, like an overenthusiastic attempt at a Jackson Pollock painting. His eyes followed the trail, that sinking feeling growing as he moved closer to the source. And when he finally laid eyes on what had caused all that mess, he felt as if all the air had been knocked from his lungs.

Kiyotaka gripped a knife with a trembling right hand, clenched so tight that his knuckles were pale. There was a gaping slit in Mondo’s throat.

The sight confused Mondo. If he was lying on the bed, in Kiyotaka’s arms...then how was he seeing himself from an outsider’s perspective? It didn’t match up. 

A sickening sense of dread started to brew within Mondo. Instinctively, he put his hands to his neck; but as he prodded at the area where the wound was on his body, the skin seemed to give way. Trying not to gag, he pushed further.

To his horror, the finger slipped in.

Mondo removed his hands from his throat, flinching as if scalded by fire. He screamed, and this time his voice cracked. Kiyotaka sobbed, and their voices mingled in some twisted harmony.  _ No, there’s no fuckin’ way I’m dead! _ The words refused to form on Mondo’s lips, but the thought played over and over again in his mind. One minute he was riding a bike into the sunset and the next he was watching blood pour from a wound in his throat.  _ Man, this had to be some weird dream  _ or Mondo was about to get very, very, pissed.

“I’m sorry!” Kiyotaka screamed, rocking back and forth with Mondo’s lifeless body in his arms. He did not seem to mind getting Mondo’s still-warm blood on him, holding Mondo as close as physically possible. “I-I didn’t want to do this...Mon-chan, oh Mon-chan...p-please don’t forgive me! I did something t-truly unacceptable!” He cupped Mondo’s cheek in his hand, smearing blood across his face in the process. “I-I’m sorry!”

It took a moment before Mondo even knew what he wanted to do. “K-Kiyo…” He skirted his way around the bed, coming up behind the other man. “I don’t know,” he began, “why you did this...but y-you must have a reason, right? You have a reason for everything!”

Kiyotaka traced Mondo's lips with his thumb. Mondo felt it too, a phantom warmth ghosting over his lips. It was so gentle, so touching. And then that was followed by tears. Wet, heavy tears that fell like pearls off a broken necklace. Once again Mondo felt warmth when they dripped off the bottom of Kiyotaka's face and onto Mondo's brow, his cheek, his jaw…

“Kiyo…” he lamented, wanting to put his arms around the grieving man. But as his fingers drew closer, something strange happened. The moment Mondo put his hand on Kiyotaka’s shoulder, he swore that for a second he heard the zap of electricity. Almost too quick for him to notice, Kiyotaka’s hair flashed white, and then returned to its usual jet black. The other man didn’t seem to notice. 

The surprising phenomenon frightened Mondo enough to back off. The last thing he wanted was for something horrible to happen to Kiyotaka too.

“I h-had to do it,” Kiyotaka barely managed to get his words out in between heavy sobs. “M-Mon-chan...I couldn’t let you b-be there, when tomorrow…”

_ Just what the hell did Kiyotaka have in store for tomorrow? _

“Why?  _ Why _ ?” Mondo buried his head in his hands. “ _ What’s he gonna do, Chi? What’s he protecting me from?” _

Kiyotaka rested his head on Mondo’s chest, hoping to find the soothing, constant pulse of his heartbeat. But he found none; it was gone, never to return. He howled, he shrieked, he wailed through the night; and all Mondo could do was watch on as he flailed about in his grief and guilt. 

By morning, the blood-soaked sheets were tearing at the seams. Sitting amidst the mess he had created was Kiyotaka Ishimaru, holding the body of his dead lover in his arms.

* * *

The alarm clock chirped its shrill four note motif at six in the morning, signalling the start of the day for Ishimaru.

Finally, after hours of crying, Ishimaru dragged his weary body from the bed. Shaking his head, he repositioned Mondo’s limbs.  _ There.  _ Now he looked like he was just resting, not dead.

“I’m sorry, my love,” said Ishimaru, getting up on shaky legs. “I will be back in just a moment.”

Ishimaru left, and Mondo heard the shower running in the adjacent bathroom. Now that he was almost alone with his own body (Chihiro had respectfully hung back, but Mondo knew he was mourning too), it seemed like a good time for Mondo to take a good look at himself. The wound in his throat had stopped bleeding now that his heart had stopped hours ago. There had been quite a lot of blood. Most of his torso and abdomen was covered in the stuff from Kiyotaka moving his body around. And now, Mondo inspected his own face.

Mondo’s head was lolled to the right, despite Kiyotaka’s best efforts to balance it atop his neck and shoulders. His chapped lips were just parted, as if they were frozen in the instant his last breath left his body. His nose - well, there was nothing that special about it, so Mondo moved on. And then he jumped. His own eyes stared back into him, so devoid of life. From under his half-closed lids they gazed. They gazed not at a particular target in the room, but at a target so far away that Mondo felt that those pale purple eyes saw through him, the wall behind him, and beyond. He wished he could reach out and bring his eyelids down.

The bathroom door swung open, and out marched Ishimaru, dressed in his monochrome uniform. He had not put on his leather gloves yet - instead he held a pail in one hand and a washcloth in the other. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Ishimaru dipped the rag in water and began to wipe the bloodstains off Mondo’s body.

“You h-have to look presentable,” Ishimaru’s voice was more strained than usual. “I’ll wash and dress you, take care of a few things...and then...we can leave. Will that be alright, Mon-chan?”

Ishimaru gave a pause, as if expecting Mondo to answer. But the body remained silent, and Ishimaru carried on. He was careful, moving the cloth over Mondo’s body in gentle strokes. Mondo felt the coolness of the cloth as it drifted over his face, then down to his neck and chest, abdomen, thighs and calves...Kiyotaka was giving him a full body wipe-down, thinking that Mondo should be sent on his last journey at least not covered in blood. He ended off with wiping down Mondo’s massive arms, from shoulder to fingertip. When he was finally done, Kiyotaka paused for a second, then lifted one of Mondo’s hands, pressing his full lips against the knuckles. Mondo wanted so badly to hold on to that warm pressure forever, but Kiyotaka pulled away too early for his liking. There were far more important affairs to get in order.

Ishimaru moved so quickly he was almost scrambling. He dressed Mondo with some difficulty, for his body had stiffened in the few hours he’d been dead. But he was efficient nonetheless. Mondo’s hair was expertly styled into his signature pomp, Ishimaru’s skill with the hairspray and brush coming second only to Mondo himself. Powder was applied to Mondo’s cheeks to make him look less ghastly. And then Ishimaru brought out the eyeliner, but his attempts to apply it to Mondo’s eyelids were less successful than usual. The same hands that had produced some of the neatest calligraphy pieces Mondo had ever seen were now shaking too hard from emotional stress to draw on the eyeliner properly. 

“I’m sorry!” He apologised, as an errant flick of the wrist sent the brush off its course. With a tissue, he wiped the existing line away as well as he could, and tried again.

It took several attempts before Ishimaru was able to accept his work. It was imperfect, but he was running out of time. 

The finishing touches were then applied. The leather gloves creaked as Ishimaru slid them onto his hands, and then the collar, with chain attached, was affixed around Mondo’s neck.

_ There.  _ Ishimaru set Mondo’s body in the armchair in their bedroom as he continued to scurry around. This time, he was gathering handfuls of personal items - readying them to be displayed for a very particular purpose.

He reached into Mondo’s bedside drawer first. Out came a few tubs of half-used pomade. Vials of eyeliner. A mesh bag containing teeth Mondo had gotten knocked out during fights. A number of risque photos that had never seen the light of day since they were taken. Ishimaru gathered these items up in his arms, and headed out of the room.

_ Where was he going _ ? Mondo followed, chasing after the man who was striding at his full pace. He pursued Ishimaru down a flight of stairs, then another. Ishimaru finally exited the stairwell at the lowest level, turning right down the corridor to enter the room with the heavy soundproof doors. Their  _ dungeon _ , so to speak. The room was as they had left it yesterday, the overturned furniture revealing signs of their struggle. Ishimaru put the items down on the floor for a brief second, then set to work pushing aside the benches and chairs that occupied most of the middle of the room. His eyes scanned the room, looking for something particular - and then he found what he was looking for. Two wooden school desks, very similar to the ones they used back in high school. He dragged them into the now empty centre of the room, arranging them side by side. 

Ishimaru started with the desk on the left. The hair and makeup products had their place in the upper left corner, followed by the bag of teeth in front. As much as he tried to keep his hands steady, the stack of photos was dropped quite unceremoniously on the centre of the table, but Ishimaru let it go. He paced up to one of the racks lining the sides of the room and selected a flogger - Mondo’s favourite, that was the one with the purple tassel hanging off the end. He returned to the table, and placed it on top of the stack of photos. It sat there, a stark reminder of how a significant amount of time was passed between the two of them. 

Ishimaru stepped back and examined his handiwork.  _ So far so good.  _ He backed out of the dungeon, searching for the next batch of items. He paid a visit to the infirmary to pick up a syringe and a small vial -  _ what for,  _ Mondo wondered? His next stop was his own office, where he retrieved a few pieces of his calligraphy work, as well as the brush and ink set he had used for said work. Then he returned to the bedroom again, where Mondo’s body silently waited. 

“Again, I must say I’m sorry,” whispered Ishimaru, dropping to a knee. Readying the syringe, he located a vein in Mondo’s wrist and slid the needle in, drawing enough blood to fill the vial he had carried. Then he was digging through the pile of clothes Mondo had left last night, until he extracted the bronze dagger from the sheath hanging from the belt. With this new batch of items in hand, he set off for the dungeon again.

The dagger and vial joined the group of items on the left desk. The scrolls of calligraphy were placed on the right table, brushes arranged neatly next to them. Panting from the exertion of walking back and forth before he’d even had his breakfast, Ishimaru’s fingers found the medal pinned to his breast after a few tries. It came off, and he laid it, too, on the same table. Its polished surface gleamed as it caught the light.

“It’s almost done,” mused Ishimaru, wiping sweat from his brow. He made one last trip to his bedroom. He made no time in deciding the items to be taken down this time. The yellowed newspaper article sat in its frame. He took down the frame from the wall, blew off the dust, and took a moment to stare at the sleeping baby in the article’s picture. Yes, even at just a few days old, Kiyotaka Ishimaru had made a name for himself as the first grandchild of Toranosuke Ishimaru, not prime minister yet at the time but seemed to be the crowd favourite for the upcoming election.  _ Oh, how the mighty have fallen.  _

The article, along with a stack of diaries and his kendo sword, were the last items to be taken down to the dungeon, left in front of the right desk. Hurriedly, he ripped a blank page from the back of one of his diaries, and scribbled down a hasty note.  _ To be left to the Future Foundation.  _ The click of his pen cap had an air of finality to it, as Ishimaru took a few steps back and looked at the shrines he had set up.

Ishimaru had tears in his eyes. “Finally. It’s done. Soon...I will rest.”

With that, he turned on his heels and exited the dungeon the way he came. It was time for the next step in his big plan.

* * *

“Don’t shoot me...I’m just the messenger,  _ upupupu! _ ” Junko Enoshima’s boisterous laughter filtered through the speakers and filled the trial room. On screen, the fashionista-turned-tv-host fluffed her massive pigtails, delighted at this turn of events. Suddenly, a shrill chirp sounded from Enoshima’s flip phone, and her eyes went wide in amusement as she lifted a hand to her lips. “It looks like your dear  _ mastermind  _ is finally here! Everyone...let’s give a big round of applause to the man who brought us the Killing School Life,  _ Kiyotaka Ishimaru _ ...and his mad dog,  _ Mondo Oowada! _ ” 

Not a single participant clapped as Ishimaru showed up, wheeling a slumped-over Oowada into the trial room. 

_ Two more individuals - the ghosts of Chihiro Fujisaki and Mondo Oowada - trailed Ishimaru at his heels. Their entrance was silent, unnoticed by the living. _

Enoshima cheered, but the look in her eyes turned from excitement to horror the longer she looked at Oowada. 

_ “What the fuck? Is he dead?” _

Ishimaru pushed the wheelchair up to the trial stands in the centre. He moved Mondo’s portrait aside, then shifted Mondo into position, facing the others. 

Everyone expected Ishimaru to take his place as well, but he remained by Oowada’s side for a moment. He bent, whispering something meant for Oowada but was loud enough for the rest to hear.

“Do you see them, Mon-chan? There are six of them left.”

Ishimaru scanned the remaining participants before he straightened up with a cold smile on his face. He placed his hand on Oowada’s head, giving his hair an affectionate ruffle. Then his boots clacked against the tile floor as he marched to his designated trial stand. He held an air of quiet calm as he smoothed down his uniform, making sure everything was in place. He took a deep breath, seemingly unfazed at being exposed.

But a closer look at Ishimaru revealed that he was cracking under the pressure. The dark circles under his eyes revealed that he had spent many nights sleepless. The hollowness of his cheeks and the way his uniform appeared to hang off his frame indicated that he had perhaps lost his appetite. Weakened physically and emotionally by stress, as much as he tried to keep his usual ramrod straight posture, there was always a slight tremble in his knees that never seemed to go away.

Enoshima, not wanting to be left out of the spotlight, gave a huff as she inspected her bright red nails. “So no wonder Oowada didn’t pick up the phone this morning. My condolences...I guess.”

_ Mondo found himself wanting to lash out at Enoshima’s nonchalant attitude. He raised a fist, shaking it at the screen. “You bitch...I’d strangle you if I could!” _

_ “M-Mondo!” Chihiro reached for Mondo’s arm, pulling it down towards his side. “I don’t know if they can see or hear us!” _

_ “Does it look like I give a damn?” snarled Mondo. But he reluctantly remained quiet, arms in front of her chest. This was not his place to say anything. This trial was between Ishimaru and the remaining survivors. They were the only ones with the power to do anything. _

Kirigiri’s brows furrowed just the slightest. Despite how subtle her reaction was, the minute changes in her expression did not escape Ishimaru’s keen eyes.

“Why, what’s the matter, detective?” asked Ishimaru. “You seem to be lost in thought about something.”

Kirigiri’s eyes flickered to the body in the wheelchair in the stand next to her. “The wound on his neck,” she noted quietly, pulling on her gloves. “It appears to be fresh.”

_ Mondo tried not to think too hard about his fatal injury, but the spot still itched. _

Ishimaru nodded. “Ever so observant, detective. Oowada died last night.” He stated the fact with almost no emotion at all - a far cry from the emotional hall monitor they all saw sobbing his heart out after Oowada’s ‘execution’. Poor Naegi, who had been looking after Ishimaru after his shutdown, could not believe what he was seeing. His eyes darted back and forth, stuck in some sort of bad dream.

“I-Ishimaru!” Naegi spoke out, pale in the face, “That body we saw in the art room repository...so...it wasn’t really you?” 

The mastermind gave a short chuckle from behind one of his leather gloves. “Very good, Naegi. It seems that your attention to detail has improved throughout the course of the game I’ve set up for you.”

“That’s why it seemed off. That case haunted me for a while,” Naegi admitted, his hazel eyes never leaving Ishimaru’s face. “Then…”

“You’re wondering if I’m the real Kiyotaka Ishimaru, right?” Ishimaru prompted. “Logically, that would be the next question on your mind.”

“...It is.” Naegi cleared his throat, his courage wavering. “I don’t want to believe that you masterminded the game, Ishimaru..but please give me a reason to believe that the real Kiyotaka Ishimaru is right here, and not in a frozen morgue!”

Ishimaru nodded as he wasted no time in unbuckling the strap of his watch, sliding it off his left wrist. 

“If it is the proof you seek, I invite you to take it from me!”

The watch flew through the air, and Naegi caught the accessory with both hands. He did not spare a glance at the watch, but instead kept his eyes trained on Ishimaru. Those eyes went wide in understanding and shock, and there was no questioning what Naegi had seen; Mondo already knew.

Ishimaru had shown Naegi the scars littering the inside of his left wrist.

Naegi was aware of those scars, them becoming a daily sight for him when he looked after Ishimaru after Oowada’s departure from the game. His body double had no such scars to speak of, which planted the seed of doubt in Naegi when he investigated “Ishimaru’s” body in the repository.

That seed had grown into a healthy seedling, and along with other clues hinting at Oowada’s survival beyond his execution, had led Naegi and the remaining students to correctly deduce the identities of the individuals behind the killing game.

“You were careless,” Togami pointed out, referring to the trail of clues Ishimaru and his co-conspirator had left behind. “Or rather, Oowada was. Your plan was a failure because of the loose ends the two of you left behind while planning this whole spectacle.”

_ Chihiro flinched at the sound of Togami’s voice, hands digging into the material of his skirt. Of course, he had the right to be scared- that smug bastard had strung Chihiro’s body up just because he could. Mondo remembered how eager Togami had been for them to see the body he had set up, and how sick that made Mondo feel. The programmer was suspended above the ground by nothing but a pair of pull-up bars and a cheap extension cord. His short legs dangled in the air, the wind swinging them back and forth...Mondo had seen plenty of carnage before, but this made his stomach turn.  _

_ Togami was one of the names Ishimaru had crossed out on his flowchart. He shouldn’t have lived. He was too selfish, too arrogant.  _

_ “Chi.” Mondo nudged the smaller boy with his elbow. “He can’t hurt’cha any more. So don’t worry.” _

_ “O-Okay.” With that reminder, Chihiro seemed to relax a bit, letting go of the cloth he was fidgeting with. _

Ishimaru addressed Togami’s claim with a quizzical smile on his lips. “A failure?” He tilted his head. “I’m afraid you misread the whole situation.”

Togami glared from behind the shiny lenses of his glasses. “We exposed you. And now we’re going to take you down, and escape this school. Does this not count as a defeat for you?”

“On the contrary!” Ishimaru refuted brightly, spreading his hands. “I’d say that everything is going exactly according to plan.”

_ Indeed, according to plan.  _ Mondo repeated Ishimaru’s words in his head.  _ And in the next step of his plan… _

“Your plan was  _ this?! _ ” Asahina piped up, a deep scowl on her face. “Those who died...Sayaka, Mukuro, Leon, Chihiro, Hifumi, Celes,  _ Sakura _ ...and  _ Mondo _ ? They died for your  _ plan _ ?”

She was red in the face now. “H-How could you! They were our friends! And you...you killed them! You played with our lives like it was no big deal!”

_ “T’was a fuckin’ big deal to him,” swore Mondo under his breath. _

“Let me refute you on that point.” said Ishimaru, confident. “At least some of you were, as you put it, a ‘big deal’. But some of you mattered more than others.”

He dropped the subject for now, moving onto the next topic on his agenda. “Say, are you all aware of the state of the outside world right now?”

“Well, we were just kept in here for a whole year,” Hagakure scratched his head, “So whatever’s out there has to be kinda bad at least, I guess?” 

“That’s a start,” returned Ishimaru, like a teacher leading a class discussion. “Does anyone else have any guesses? What about our resident serial killer?”

All eyes turned towards Fukawa as she nervously fiddled with her braids. 

“W-What?” She spat, throwing a nasty look at the rest of the group. “You’re a-asking...t-that person, and n-not me, right?”

“You don’t share memories, so when your memories were wiped, Syo’s were not.” Togami deduced. “Now hurry up and let us talk to Syo, alright?”

Fukawa let out a muffled ‘Yes, Master,” and then retrieved the pepper shaker she had taken from the kitchen. Shaking out a cloud of pepper into the air, she sneezed, and transformed.

“Yes?” cackled Syo, her long tongue flicking. “What is it this time?” She flinched back in surprise. “ _ Tick Tock? Is that you? And Butter Boy? What’cha doing, back from the dead? That cut looks real nasty! _ ”

Mondo rolled his eyes.

Togami sighed, pushing up his glasses. “We’ll answer that later. But to put it simply, we would like you to explain what happened before we were all locked in here.” He crossed his arms. 

“Is that so! In that case, gimme a moment to think…” Syo’s long tongue curled. “What happened before we were all forced to kill each other?”

Enoshima, who had been watching the trial all this time, interrupted with a wave of her hand.  _ “Heya! Miss Serial Killer! Up here! Maybe the photos your classmates found will help you jog your memory a bit!” _

Pictures of ruined cities filled the screen. Raging fires and collapsed buildings came into view. Bodies littered the ground, too many to clean up. It seemed as if no life was left - truly, a tragedy to behold.

_ “I-I think...that’s my father,” murmured Chihiro, squinting hard at one of the photos shown. Mondo felt sad for the little guy. He wasn’t exactly the best person to go to when it came to dealing with the loss of a family member - hell, he killed the only family he had left when he decided to join Ishimaru - but nobody else would comfort Chihiro now. So he put a hand on the smaller boy’s shoulder, letting him know it was okay to grieve. _

Syo took a moment to collect her thoughts, then swiftly brandished a pair of scissors, pointing them at Ishimaru. “Well, that’s it!” She yelled. “I remember now...that last year we were trapped in Hopes’ Peak Academy...was the year Ultimate Order took over the nation! And you,  _ Tick Tock -  _ ran the whole thing from the prime minister’s office!”

“Exemplary.” Ishimaru rapped his knuckles against his trial stand. “That was the perfect answer I was looking for.”

Hagakure scratched his head once again. Everyone wondered if he had a dandruff problem. “But why’d you only remember now? Like, I’m sure you’ve seen Ishimaru around several times before he got...knocked on the head, so why didn’t you speak up then?”

“You can’t expect me to remember everything,” hissed Syo, nostrils flaring. “Gloomy tried to block me out most of the time! So my memory comes back in bits and patches...but those pictures really helped me remember! Thanks,  _ hunk of junk! _ ”

_ “Excuse me, ugh, what did you just call me, you scissor-twirling bitch?” _

“Moving on,” continued Ishimaru with his lecture, “I made some mistakes during the course of my administration. Eventually, the loss of human life and liberty was far too great for any benefit brought upon the country by establishing my moral paradise to outweigh. This killing game I organised was a step in my contingency plan to minimise the damage I’d done. At this point I must thank you all for playing along. I can’t say that this was the best possible outcome, but I’m glad some of my... _ desired survivors _ made it to the end.”

“ _ Desired survivors _ ?” repeated Naegi. “What do you mean by,  _ desired survivors? _ ”

“Those who survived my killing game were meant to rebuild the ruined world I left behind. This game was meant to weed out those who were worthy of such a challenge and those who were not.”

“So this game was a  _ test _ ?” Asahina spat. “We were just  _ test subjects _ ? And we’re supposed to go out into the world and...a-and fix the world  _ for you _ ?”

“In essence, yes.” Ishimaru straightened up again. He stepped away from his trial stand, walking across the room to stand in front of the throne Monokuma had previously occupied in an earlier part of the class trial. “Explaining my plan for all of you in detail would take far too long - the faster you all get out there, the faster you can start rebuilding the world! Instead, everything you would ever need to know, can be found in my diaries.”

“So you’re just going to let us go now.” said Togami, his tone icy cold. “There’s no point keeping us in here any longer anyway, since we’re not going to play your idiotic little game any more.”

“Not quite yet.” Ishimaru stopped him with a raise of his hand. “The execution has not been carried out yet.”

_ Mondo’s heart sunk. The moment was coming. It had been looming over Ishimaru’s head for the past few months, following him like a ghost. And now it had finally caught up to him. _

“E-Execution?” Hagakure yelped, cradling his head in his hands. “I thought this was all over!!!!”

“Tsk.” Togami clicked his tongue in annoyance in response to Hagakure’s panicked ravings. “Whose execution are we talking about, here?”

Ishimaru looked confused for a second. “Why, that would be  _ my  _ execution. I thought that was obvious enough by now.”

_ “W-Wait!” Enoshima screeched, loud enough to deafen. “You can’t just go and die like that, w-what about your plan for Ultimate Order?! A-At least...can’t you spare a thought for me, your official Killing School Life promoter?! T-shirts were next on the merch line, you know? Fuckin’ t-shirts! With your face on them! People aren’t gonna buy them if you’re dead because that’s, like, distasteful and shit-” _

Ishimaru dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “Mute speakers.” With a crackle, the voice of Junko Enoshima cut off abruptly. Despite this she continued to babble on screen, mouth opening and shutting like a goldfish in a tank.

With Enoshima’s distractions out of the way, Ishimaru could get back to the more important matters at hand. It was time. Time to end it all. 

“Congratulations, then.” He proclaimed confidently, splaying a hand across his chest. Then he bowed, a full ninety-degree angle that conveyed his deepest respect for the survivors. “You’ve all graduated from Hopes’ Peak Academy.”

_ Mondo expected the remaining survivors to accept the situation and leave without complaint, but one of his classmates proved him wrong. _

The moment was interrupted by Naegi, who raised his hand as if reaching out to the other. “Ishimaru!” He shrieked, voice cracking from emotion. “No... _ Kiyotaka _ ...you don’t have to do this!”

“Let him be, Naegi. You know there’s no stopping him.” Togami’s voice was ice cold.

The look in Ishimaru’s red eyes softened by a degree. “W-Why not?” He challenged. “I’ve done something very wrong. I deserve punishment.”

“Come with us, Taka!” Naegi offered, his hand extended like a lifeline. “There has to be a way out, no matter what you’ve done! W-Why...Why did you do this, Taka? There had to be a reason for this, r-right? I don’t understand-”

“Makoto Naegi.” Ishimaru clasped his hands together, smiling brightly. The deep frown that had been on his face only moments before had disappeared. “You, in particular, have shown exemplary skill telling right from wrong. I believe you are capable enough to fix my mistakes. Go on, without me.”

“W-What mistakes?”

“The world beyond Hopes’ Peak,” began Ishimaru, his red eyes seething, “is lawless and unjust. In my bid to correct that, I have only ruined it further.”

“What do you mean?”

“I am running out of time, but before I go, let me say this -  _ you do not need to forgive me. _ ” With that, he made the last few steps to the extravagant throne, excitedly picking up the remote control that laid on its seat. 

_ That squarish panel with its big red button, bulbous like a tomato. If Mondo had still been alive he would’ve ripped it out of Ishimaru’s hands and smashed it to smithereens. But he could do no such thing now. His grip on Chihiro’s hand tightened, and they all watched helplessly as Ishimaru pressed down the button with his palm, starting the execution process. _

“Goodbye, my fellow classmates!”

With that, the curtain fell on that last class trial, and a new one rose.

* * *

**Commander Ishimaru’s Ultimate Punishment**

The lights came on again, revealing Ishimaru behind his podium and the set pieces that were assembled behind him.

The disgraced leader straightened his cue cards one last time.

The camera popped up directly in front of the podium, ticking down the seconds from five... _ four… _

_...three… _

_...two… _

_...one. _

Ishimaru began calmly, the stage lights painting his skin a pallid yellow. “A good morning to all who are currently watching this live broadcast. Today, I shall be stepping down from my role as prime minister. My resignation was not a hasty decision, but one I have pondered upon for a considerable amount of time.”

He flipped the first cue card over, the papers sliding underneath those careful fingers.

“I am here this morning to apologise on behalf of myself, as well as my administration. We have  _ failed  _ to bring you the results we promised. Instead of bettering the lives of our citizens, our policies have made your lives worse. We regret the events that have come to pass, and we will do our best to contain the damage brought upon by our actions.”

Ishimaru ignored the beads of sweat forming on his brow. He tucked the first cue card behind the stack. Licking his lips to wet them, he continued on with his speech.

“As of this morning, we have launched Operation  _ Final Order _ , in which all personnel under Ultimate Order will undergo  _ e-extermination. _ ” He stuttered on the last word, lips not moving as they should. “We will attempt to clean up our mess as quickly as possible, and we ask for your understanding, and cooperation.”

Another flip of the cue cards. Ishimaru’s throat tightened. The facade was crumbling, the mask cracking. Behind the shell of the grim-faced leader was the trembling young boy, the one who knew he had done wrong and needed to face the consequences. Kiyotaka wanted nothing more than all of this to be over. This killing game he had organised was nothing more than the spectacle leading up to his televised suicide. The cold embrace of death could not come soon enough, exactly in the way he had planned it. And rightfully, he deserved to die. It was the only punishment severe enough for a monster who had taken hundreds, even thousands of lives.

“Last of all,” Kiyotaka read, finally finding a bit of relief. “I would like to offer a final apology on behalf of Ultimate Order - to the victims who perished in the tragedy I caused. To them, I am deeply sorry.” He stepped away from the podium, giving a full bow once again. “I shall not ask for your forgiveness, for I should be  _ reviled  _ not just in the days to come...but  _ condemned _ for all eternity.”

He straightened up one last time, and gave a small nod at the camera. “Let my punishment begin.” 

With the speech over, a march began to stream in from the overhead speakers. First, a few bars from the bass drum, its deep rumble setting the solemn stage for the execution of the boy commander. Then the brass started, a tinny tune played with pomp and ceremony. A Monokuma unit, campaign sash draped over its shoulder, began to announce the punishments through a crackling megaphone. 

_ “It’s punishment time! Let’s give it eeeeeeverything we’ve got!” _

**The 1000 Blows**

Ishimaru’s arms were strapped in across his chest by the chains that wrapped tight around his body, firmly holding him to the pole. Then the barrage of baseballs fired upon him, wave upon wave. Had it not been for the choking and puffing of those old baseball pitching machines, the sound of cracking bone would be audible to all as Ishimaru endured the stoning, his grim frown never leaving his face.

**The Cage of Death**

Around and around the motorcycle went. He spun so wildly he could no longer tell which way was up and which way was down, the entire world melting into a blur. There was a loud zap, loud enough for Ishimaru to feel it in his shattered bones. The cage lit up with electricity, and so did his hair as it flashed white, flames in his red eyes.

**The Burning of the Versailles Witch**

The flames licked at the soles of his boots. Just a bit more and they would consume him whole. The smoke attacked his eyes, leaving them with stinging tears. He raised his head, looking towards the sky above - oh, if only  _ heaven  _ would take him now! But the wailing siren of an incoming fire truck knocked him out of his reverie - and he was knocked off his feet indeed, by the rescue vehicle that had rammed into him at full speed. 

**Excavator Destroyer**

Broken and bloodied, Ishimaru knelt on the platform before the mighty machine. Then its shovel descended on him, striking and pounding until he was left in the dust with barely any life in him. The commander gave a feeble cough, sending a dribble of blood out of the corner of his mouth.

**DEATH OF A DREAM**

And now it was time for his  _ special  _ punishment, the one he had prepared personally for himself. 

The crowd of Monokumas lining the street jeered as the campaign truck carrying their leader drove by. Supreme Commander Kiyotaka Ishimaru was propped up by a metal frame, his hand forced to wave by the motorised arm it was strapped to. His uniform, once pristine and neatly ironed, was now a mess with blood splatters in every nook and cranny one could possibly think of. His military hat, placed on top of his head, hid the spot where his scalp came away from his skull, having suffered multiple hits to the head from the excavator earlier. 

Right next to him was his deputy, the  _ mad dog  _ Mondo Oowada, propped up in a similar fashion. 

_ Tyranny! Corruption! NOTICE TO STEP DOWN! _

Signs waved in their faces as the truck carrying the duo cruised down the street. Ishimaru grimaced at the accusations, but Oowada remained reactionless. 

The parade continued on.

Trouble was brewing up on an overhead pedestrian bridge. There lay the final blow that would finally bring Supreme Commander Kiyotaka Ishimaru down - a sniper Monokuma with a rifle.

Gasps broke out when the first bullet pierced Ishimaru’s right shoulder. It struck hard and deep. Bright pink bloomed around the wound, spreading fast across the white cloth of his uniform.

Ishimaru looked up, and locked eyes with the sniper.

Then he closed his eyes, and turned the corners of his mouth upwards in a serene, content smile.

_ Bang! _

The second bullet was lethal, striking Ishimaru in the heart.

The truck carrying the leaders of Ultimate Order slowed to a stop. Panicking, the Monokumas dropped their signs, clawing their way onto the truck. They shook Ishimaru and Oowada’s bodies, crying for them.

_ The monster was dead, and Ultimate Order was no more. _

* * *

_ A gentle breeze blew across the plains, whispering a soothing melody as the wind weaved in and out of the valley.  _

_ Mondo squatted upon the hillside, coattails flicking in the wind. _

_ “Hey.” said Chihiro, sitting down next to Mondo. His tiny hands smoothed over the fabric of his brown canvas trousers. “Are you okay?” _

_ Mondo raised his fingers to his lips, habitually grabbing for a cigarette when there was none. He dropped his hand back to his side, letting it hang there. _

_ “Peaceful. Wasn’t expecting this, after what I’ve done.” _

_ “I don’t think Taka was expecting this either.” _

_ “He doing okay? I mean, he could still feel all that stuff after his execution…the mob tearin’ him apart and all. Guess I was lucky, huh? Was dead long enough for my soul to properly separate from my body.” _

_ Chihiro hugged his knees to his chest, resting his chin atop them. “He’s still resting. But he’ll get better.” _

_ “Yea,” agreed Mondo, his hand coming up to feel the phantom wound in his neck. “Still got a killer sore throat, man. Wonder how long it’ll take to heal.” _

_ “We’ll have all the time in the world to heal,” said Chihiro. “We’ll have all the time in the world to make amends.” _

_ Chihiro’s last sentence hung in the air between them, before Mondo extended a hand to the boy he’d killed. “Guess I’ll say it now and get that outta the way, alright? Sorry, Chi. I’m sorry I killed ya.” _

_ Chihiro gave Mondo’s hand a good shake and a confident squeeze. “I accept your apology.” _

_ That evening, as they reminisced about happier days, the sky turned the most vibrant shade of pink-red.  _


End file.
